


At The Bridge

by afternoonish



Category: Red vs. Blue
Genre: AU, Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Creatures & Monsters, Cryptids, Goatman - Freeform, Goatman!Grif, Grimmons, M/M, Monsters, Mothman, Mothman!Simmons, Oneshot, and idiots being idiots, just lots o pining, lots o worldbuilding
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-13
Updated: 2020-06-13
Packaged: 2021-03-04 01:07:40
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,092
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24695005
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/afternoonish/pseuds/afternoonish
Summary: Simmons let himself settle back again, closing his eyes and listening to the muffled silence of the night. Another quick check with his antennae confirmed that nobody was around for miles. Not a voice or person anywhere. Just pure, uninterrupted, peace and qui-"HEY! Get the fuck down, dipshit!"God fucking dammit.
Relationships: Dexter Grif & Dick Simmons, Dexter Grif/Dick Simmons
Comments: 3
Kudos: 39





	At The Bridge

**Author's Note:**

> hello there!! this is just a quick tester for a larger au i wanna write eventually. think of it as... a trial run, so to speak, to see how well i like writing the characters and how well you all like reading about em. if this gets enough positive feedback i'll probably work on the larger story!

The wind lifted Simmons' reddish-black feathered wings higher into the air, and he let himself be carried up into the nighttime skies. The night was always so peaceful- nobody was around, whether it was another mothman or people down below shrieking at him, and he was very rarely bothered even when he did bump into another one of his kind.

He'd never understood the need to fly around in the day. The group of mothmen he lived with, a ragtag bunch that had left their old home to be safer in the sprawling woods here, were usually bossed around by their "leader", Sarge, to go out and collect food and whatnot by day. It did mean Simmons got all of the nighttime to go out and do whatever he wanted, though, so he rarely complained- well, he rarely complained anyways, even if it had earned him the reputation as a kiss-ass in the group.

Simmons adjusted his wings to swoop down, feeling the joints at the base of his shoulders starting to ache. He'd been doing a lot of quick spirals and flips in the air, enjoying the perfect speed of wing that night that hadn't been too buffeting, but fast enough to easily let him wheel about in the sky like a bird. Unfortunately, he didn't get to do that super often, and certainly never practiced it rigorously, so the tricks always left his wings exhausted and aching. He scanned the area below for somewhere to land, and noticed a narrow intersection up ahead, where the river he'd been flying over crossed with a bridge connecting two dirt paths. There were support beams towering over it, and he figured it would work well enough for now. Hopefully nobody would be driving through here at this hour of night.

He leaned downwards, losing most of the air from under his wings, and glided down smoothly, landing perched on one of the large steel beams and perching there easily. As he landed, he shook out his wings and felt the sore muscles sigh. The redhead sat back more until he was slightly more comfortable, and after a moment of swiveling his tufted antennae around for even the slightest hint of someone nearby, finally let himself calm down and turn his gaze towards the stars.

Simmons rarely ever got to be fully alone. Even on his nighttime flights, he'd instinctively know if any mothmen were flying nearby, which they often were. After a few hours of sleep- his kind didn't really need a lot of rest- all of his time during the day would be consumed by Sarge barking orders and sending them out to fly around to keep watch or grab food. They'd figured out easy ways to hide their wings and antennae, so usually going to nearby towns and whatnot was the common option for getting food and supplies, unless someone had spotted you recently. Human towns were so _crowded_ all the time, and it was like they were completely unaware of the 24/7 noise they made. Simmons' life by day was like having a solid 12 or so hours of nothing but pure sensory overload.

After all that, it was so nice to just... be still. To not have to hear, or squint your eyes through the red tint of your goggle lens, hoping to God that the damn things protect your light-sensitive eyes from the blinding sun. 

Simmons shuddered. He still remembered the time one side of Donut's goggles had flipped up by accident when they were flying into town, and the exposed eye had been blinded in seconds, so painfully and suddenly that the blonde had _screamed_ and passed out _._ Just fell right out of the sky. Simmons had had to dive after him before he hit the rocks below, and carry him best his lanky frame could back to the secluded cluster of small houses in the woods. Thank God for Doc, the closest thing to a nonhuman doctor that any of them had known. Granted, being well-versed in witchcraft and healing herbs, and experience with an actual doctor human helping him with a broken wing years ago wasn't exactly medical experience, but it had been enough for them so far. And they'd needed him a _lot_ , especially when he'd first joined them not long after they'd started living here. Sarge had grumbled that an owlman was _not_ technically a mothman and there was no point for him to be in the group, but after Doc had healed a pretty bad bullet graze on his leg from a close call with bird hunters, Sarge had begrudgingly also agreed that yes, having a witch doctor around was indeed helpful, even if he wasn't exactly a mothman.

As dumb as they all could be, they'd actually managed to survive fairly well so far.

Of course, everyone there was still annoying after enough time around them constantly. Simmons shook his head free of the thoughts about them. He'd have plenty of time to think about the group when he was woken up at the crack of dawn by Sarge blasting polka music from the radio they stole, once again starting another day of tomfuckery.

For now, the stars and darkened night sky helped him relax, swallowed up by the shadows and dim moonlight. The thinnest, finest sliver of the moon hung in the sky, like someone had very carefully traced the tip of their claw against the dark, just enough so light filtered through, and no more.

Simmons let himself settle back again, closing his eyes and listening to the muffled silence of the night. Another quick check with his antennae confirmed that nobody was around for miles. Not a voice or person anywhere. Just pure, uninterrupted, peace and qui-

"HEY! Get the fuck down, dipshit!"

God fucking dammit.

Simmons opened his eyes and whipped his head around, then looked down. Sure enough, some person was standing on the bridge below him with an absolutely fuming expression.

Well... " _person_ " seemed to be a stretch. The figure- who was slightly on the round side, to put it nicely- had what appeared to be stocky goat legs in place of normal legs, and matching goat ears where normal ears should be. Even more surprising were the two horns protruding from his mess of dark brown hair and curving back over his head. _A satyr?_ Simmons guessed, though he'd never heard of satyrs having horns that big, and faun horns weren't that shape either. The only normal part of him seemed to be the beaten orange hoodie he wore. The maybe-satyr walked forward again, and the irritated scowl on his face now snatched his attention away from figuring out what species this guy was.

"Didn't you hear me? Get the fuck down!" He yelled again. Simmons felt a spark of annoyance, flaring his wings behind him indignantly.

"Hey, can you be quiet? There could be humans nearby." The redhead snapped back, crouching and leaning down over the steel beam.

"Bullshit, dude, everyone knows not to get on my bridge!" The goat guy paused, shooting another irritated look at Simmons. "Well, almost everyone, apparently."

" _Your_ bridge? I don't see your name on it!"

"Dude! The legends have been around since the damn 1940s, how can you NOT know?"

"You're crazy!"

"Get off my damn bridge!"

"Come up here and make me!" Simmons snarled, feeling a burst of triumph. Ah, yes, the perks of having wings! There's no way anyone could get all the way up to where he was unless they also had wings- which this guy definitely did not have. Once again, he'd won the battle of wits-

A metallic clang had him turning his head back downward, to watch with wide eyes as the other man jumped up onto the nearest beam, and Simmons now noticed multiple things. One, the guy had claws, which was definitely not a satyr or fawn trait, and definitely a trait reserved solely for cryptids and monsters that had evolved the option to hunt. Two, he also had a long, whip-thin tail that he twined around the various beams as needed, currently giving him extra help in climbing and balancing himself as he made his way up. Third, and most alarmingly, as this definitely-not-a-satyr got close enough to Simmons, it was clear that his eyes were glowing a vibrant, burning orange, and speaking of burning, occasionally bursts of fire or sparks would puff out from the corner of his mouth and then fizzle out.

In under a minute, this half-goat, half-nightmare hybrid entity now stood on the steel bars as well, arms crossed. Simmons had no idea how to wipe the startled look off his face, but at least it didnt betray the fact he was also mildly impressed with how fast this guy had managed to get up here. His movements had been fluid, catlike, and surprisingly effortless, though Simmons could see he was trying to hide that his chest and sides were heaving a bit. His heart skipping a beat reminded the mothman of the fact that he'd just been yelling at and insulting this guy who could apparently spit fire and claw at him.

Simmons scrambled backwards and flared his wings out behind him in an effort to look like a threat.

"How the fuck..." He finally managed.

"Like I said, this is my bridge, and it has been for like 90 years. I know every foothold and handhold on this stupid thing."

"Wait. 90 years? But... you don't... _what_?"

"Oh my God, you really dont know who I am."

"Of course I don't! You haven't even told me your name!"

The other cryptid sighed, looking slightly amused despite the scowl he still wore. "Grif. Dexter Grif. Better known around these parts as simply, the Goatman." He did a sarcastic flourish regarding himself like it was a big reveal, looking smug. "How about you?" The creature held out a hand to help Simmons up.

"Uh. Dick Simmons. But, um, people just call me Simmons." The mothman said as he carefully took Grif's hand and was hauled up almost effortlessly, much to his surprise. For a moment his brain was stuck trying to process what just happened, and then he noticed how close their faces were and quickly stepped away, thanking the darkness for hiding how red he knew his stupid face was. After a moment of regaining his composure, he finally registered what Grif had said. "Waitwaitwait. You're called the _Goatman?_ Really?"

"What?"

"That's not even remotely intimidating. Did you choose that yourself?"

"The fuck do you mean that's not intimidating? I'm not gonna spend hours fussing over it, that's way too much work. Besides, your race's name is literally mothmen, dude, you're not any better."

"Yeah, but yours is a title. If you're gonna make up a title that you want people to fear you for, choose something better than... Goatman."

"Like what?"

"I dunno... Darth Vader?" Simmons shrugged his shoulders.

"Yeah, I'll definitely consider it." Grif said sarcastically. "Look, that's just what the locals called me, and it stuck. I didn't choose it, some crazy Texans from the early 40's did. I don't really care about it." He started walking towards the edge of the steel beam, sitting down on the edge and watching the river rush past below.

"So you've been around since the 40's?" Simmons tilted his head, a lock of cinnamon hair falling in his face. He followed Grif with his gaze, then cautiously sat down next to him, keeping a few feet of empty space in between them. The other cryptid didn't seem to care or notice, and despite every part of his brain still being very nervous of this individual, Simmons found himself scooting slightly closer to Grif.

"Eeeh, technically. I've been scaring people here since, like, 1885. There was just some sort of point where everyone went from 'the people who scream about demons here are crazy' to 'hey, the people who scream about demons here might have a point.' "

"Aha! So you're a demon!" Simmons said triumphantly, and then his words clicked into place and he jumped back, beating his wings and scattering reddish-black feathers. "Oh, FUCK, you're a demon!?"

Grif's eyes widened, and he held his hands out. "Woah, hey, hey, hey! Calm down, calm down, I'm not gonna kill you!"

"Fuck that! You're prolly gonna suck out my soul or some shit!"

"No, I'm not! Will you please calm down? If you come back over here and listen to me, I'll do something very rare and actually take the time to explain to you."

Simmons paused, turning this over in his head and refusing to take his eyes off Grif. On the one hand, it was true Grif hadn't tried to kill him yet or something. On the other hand, he was a demon, and their reputation had never been false. On the third hand, Grif didn't seem malicious at all, just tired, calm, hesitant, lit up perfectly by the dim moonlight and-

_Okay, it's officially time to shut the fuck up, brain._

Cautiously, Simmons scooted back towards Grif, consciously trying to beat back the onslaught of conflicting thoughts and emotions as they clashed in his mind.

The demon did seem to relax slightly seeing Simmons still trusted him enough. Truthfully, Simmons wasn't sure why he did trust Grif. They'd known eachother for like, a few hours tops, but somehow it seemed they both trusted eachother a lot already. He hoped Grif trusted him this much, anyway, but he got the feeling that Grif didn't try this hard to calm most people down, and that eased his worries for the most part.

"Alright, thankyou." Grif said, tail flicking behind him. "Now, first disclaimer, I am not a demon. Well, not necessarily. Demons are like, the people who actually do some fucked up shit, like... murder, or forcing someone to never eat a Twinkie again."

"I don't think those two things are even slightly the same level-"

" _Anyways_." He quickly interrupted. "I'm not a demon. I'm an imp. We're just, like, the pranksters of the underworld, we didn't really ever do anything super bad. I mean, I know I didn't. I'm not sure about the others."

Simmons definitely felt more confused than he'd felt in quite a while, even with the constant exposure to Sarge and Donut's headassery. "So... wait... if you're actually from the underworld... why aren't you there right now?"

"One-man draft. Happens sometimes."

"The underworld, which is full of millions of dead souls, drafted you, and only you." The mothman said disbelievingly.

"Like I said, it happens sometimes." Grif shrugged. 

"What were you even drafted to do?"

"Guard this bridge, and the giant man-eating cerberus underneath it."

"WHAT?" Simmons shot into the air, hovering a good six feet above Grif's head and nervously eyeing the bridge. After a moment, he became very much aware of Grif loudly laughing and wheezing below him, and landed back down on the bridge with a scowl. "Oh, you fucking asshole."

The goatman wiped tears from his eyes and managed to calm down after a few more cackles. "Shit, dude, that was amazing. I didn't know someone could take off that fast!"

Simmons sat back down next to him again, considerably closer this time, and playfully smacked Grif with a wing."Oh, fuck off. What were you drafted to do, then?" He asked again with a grin.

"I don't care, I forgot as soon as possible. Obviously it wasn't important, cause they haven't checked or anything. I don't think they even remember!" He smirked, the tips of his fangs just barely peeking out of his mouth. "I ditched the old place forever ago and now I just go where I please and do what I want. And usually what I want is to scare people at this dank old bridge."

They both laughed. Grif's laugh was contagious. Eventually they both fell silent, watching the river rush past as the stars reflected on it. It was weird how comfortable and normal it felt to talk with Grif. Even back with Sarge and the others, who he'd literally migrated across a part of the country with, the conversations usually felt a little forced. There was nobody he just... easily clicked with, the closest thing being Donut, though that wasn't exactly.. friendship, so to speak. This right now, though, this was comfortable, and even without talking, Simmons felt like they were still having a conversation.There were another few long moments of silence between them...

... And then suddenly someone was nudging him awake, and faint sunlight was hitting his side. Simmons blinked, confused, squinting in the dawn and once again envying other creatures for having eyes that could actually handle full sunlight. Something hastily unwound from around his leg. Grif nudged him again, mumbling something and coming into view of his still-groggy vision. Simmons drowsily flipped his goggles over his eyes before realizing the situation.

He looked over, realizing he was leaned against Grif's arm, and quickly moved away. "Ah- shit- sorry!"

"You're good. We both fell asleep." The imp gave him an apologetic smile, then quickly jumped and seemed to snap back to his normal personality. "Come on. We both gotta go before the sun's all the way up. With how sunny it gets up here, someone will _definitely_ notice the two people standing on the bridge with wings and horns and shit."

"Y-yeah." The mothman stretched his wings, trying to neatly tuck away the barrage of hectic, panicked thoughts that were jumping around his brain. He checked the area with his antennae, but thankfully nobody was around. That's good. It'd be dangerous if people were nearby already, because he wasn't close by to warn-

Sarge and the others.

"Shit, I gotta go! I'm supposed to be back at our base in like 15 minutes!" Simmons yelped, bursts of energy waking him up much faster. He spread his wings and shot into the sky, but stopped himself when he heard Grif yell "Hey, nerd, wait a second!"

He wheeled in the air, looking down at Grif. "What? I gotta go!"

"Can you come back tomorrow night?" The goatman hollered. "It gets really fuckin boring here!"

He paused, thinking. Well, he had nothing better to do. Simmons smiled.

"Yeah! Yeah, I'll come back tomorrow night."

The imp gave a thumbs up, and Simmons turned quickly, letting the wind quickly push him back to the base.

... Fuck, he was still really tired.

...And maybe not as straight as he thought.

**Author's Note:**

> all that writing and they didnt even kiss.  
> sorry lads, i was worried it would look like it went too fast if i did anything more than some dumb pining. again, this au will probably become a larger fic soon, so there'll be lots more pining in the larger version. and then more, of course.


End file.
